


as it always has; as it always will

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, D/s undertones, Domestic, Exhaustion, Fluff and Angst, Frustrated John, Hurt/Comfort, JUST, M/M, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Smut, Tired Alex, Unhealthy Relationships, can i call it unhealthy?, hurricane mention, hurricane season, it's not really, john is a science teacher and i love him, they need to work some shit out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Outside his window, the rain has lessened significantly since the afternoon. It looks as if the clouds have broke with the shear force of the earlier downpour, the heavens cracking through. Droplets fall in sixes down his window, blurring his view of the commotion below. Traffic lights, headlights, they look like a watercolor painting, pretty and aesthetically pleasing. The building across from his own is a tic-tac-toe board of black and yellow, warm light radiating from the little squares. He should be in awe, of the wondrous picture modern New York can paint sometimes, but his stomach twists with dread.





	1. blurry

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first multi-chap fic. i am very aware the plot is shit, my attempt at smut sucks, and it really can't be considered a 'multi' chapter. it's been sitting in my docs waaay too long not to post. 
> 
> there's some smut in this chapter. it's not very much. you'll find it at LATER, JOHN IS
> 
> i think that's it. i'll post the other two chapters every couple of days. please comment and leave kudos! i do appreciate them very much!

OUTSIDE HIS WINDOW, the rain has lessened significantly since the afternoon. It looks as if the clouds have broke with the shear force of the earlier downpour, the heavens cracking through. Droplets fall in sixes down his window, blurring his view of the commotion below. Traffic lights, headlights, they look like a watercolor painting, pretty and aesthetically pleasing. The building across from his own is a tic-tac-toe board of black and yellow, warm light radiating from the little squares. He should be in awe, of the wondrous picture modern New York can paint sometimes, but his stomach twists with dread. 

Beside him, John snores, arms splayed wide where Alexander had been curled in. He looks even better than the city, a van Gogh imitation with coarse curls everywhere and speckled skin covering light muscle. His chest, never shaved, keeps the thin bush of curls covering it rising and falling. His eyelids quiver, sweeping long eyelashes across suntanned cheeks. His presences is calming, as it has always been to Alexander, yet it does not overcome the bile rising in his throat. 

Earlier that day, Alexander had panicked when the thunder roared impossibly loud outside, knowing damn well it was hurricane season. He had failed to remember that it would be a thin chance a storm of that nature would devastate Brooklyn, where his life sat. Curled up in his desk chair, Alexander broke into a cold sweat and cried as loud thunder rolled through the sky. John came home worried when Alexander had not answered any of his texts about dinner plans, found him, and they had somehow ended up curled together on the mattress. It was as blurry as the traffic lights through the window. 

The aftershocks of his panic attacks were usually like this. The need to puke and an overwhelmingly exhausted feeling filling his head, usually accompanied by dark, deep circles around his eyes. He felt like absolute shit. At least he hadn’t had a nightmare, that was a plus. He usually did. Must of eaten something good before he panicked, maybe. 

John stirred beside him, left hand turning over slowly and feeling Alex’s pillow blindly. He ran his hand further down, grunting when he only came up with a mess of forgotten blankets. Alexander watched, hoping staying in the same spot would make the puke rising in him reside. John’s nimble, long fingers brushed his hip, and he jumped, almost falling off the full sized bed. Alexander steadied himself and did not miss John opening an eye, squinting in the near darkness. He opened his other and blinked, wheatfield eyes adjusting to the new light deficiency. 

“Yo, hey, what are you doing awake?” His voice sounded like rusty gears, then he cleared it abruptly, coughing a little. Alexander dropped his gaze to where his uneven nails rest in his lap, picking at their ends. They are long, they had always been. Eliza often asks how he never manages to break them. 

“I’ve only been for a few minutes. The rain calmed down.” Yeah, no, he needs to throw up. Alexander stands and runs out to the adjoined bathroom. The toilet bowl is his savior, and all he can do is cough up his stomach as John runs out of bed on unsteady, sleepy legs, and comes to his side. His boyfriend holds his hair out of the way, strokes his back as he empties his guts. 

“Oh baby, I always forget this happens,” John comments, rips off some tissue to wipe at the corners of Alexander’s mouth. Alexander mumbles something about the taste of stomach acid and pushes himself up from his position on the floor. John follows, throws the dirty tissue into the lu and quickly flushes it. Alexander brushes his teeth, welcoming the piercing mint into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Alexander frowns, and John wraps his arms around him from behind, kisses at his sleep tangled hair while he finishes brushing his teeth. The toothbrush is set back into the cup and John turns Alexander around, hands secured over his back. 

“Ain’t nothing you should be sorry for, babydoll.” The words are soft and John is solid, warm next Alexander, so he accepts them and settles for resting his head against the man’s chest. A hair tickles his cheek, and he can feel his John’s breath against the crown of his head, deep and constant. Where did he find this man, who is always so willing to deal with his unnecessary anxiety and plagued thoughts? 

They break from the embrace, and Alexander decides coffee sounds perfect. John agrees, throws on a tee shirt, and a trip is made to the overused coffee machine. 

  


LATER, JOHN IS SHIRTLESS AGAIN, much to Alexander’s endorsement. John is also sitting in between his legs with a wet tongue down his throat. Everything is pleasant and Alexander can do nothing but scratch across John’s torso with his too-long nails and rut his hips upwards. John spreads his thighs, kisses spidery stretch marks three times over. Alexander whines, red and panting, feeling like the water had streaked him too, had made him look like a mess of colors. He pulls John up for another kiss, intoxicating and fulfilling. 

“You want me to suck you, baby? Hmm?” Alexander groans, pushes his naked crotch against John’s lower stomach. John hitches his legs up, bends Alexander’s knees over his broad shoulders and bites down on his collarbone. “Or do you want me to fill you up,” he teases, in between harsh kisses and forming purple bruises. Alexander is helpless, burning under John’s hands and lips. His eyelids are heavy and he can feel a ferocious smile against his skin.

“Please,” Alexander makes out, and John tuts him, runs a big hand across his hip. The other man makes a small sound from somewhere deep in his chest. 

“‘Please?’ Where’d your voice go, doll? You should know how to ask for the things you want.” John’s voice is from somewhere far off, deep, like when he wakes up in the morning but not as scratchy. The words still send shivers down Alexander’s spine, and he is warm, warm all over with desire. He is so close to getting what he wants, John is  _ so close to him.  _ When Alexander opens his eyes, he is met with dark, burnt wood irises and too many curls, so many freckles. Something commanding, something that sparks a match low in Alexander’s stomach because John is so beautiful and  _ here.  _

“Please, I want you to fuck me.”  John purrs, leans down to kiss him again and Alexander is gone. 


	2. give in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i feel more confident about this chapter bc im better at angst than smut
> 
> self harm in this, so just keep an eye out for that if ur not cool w/ that. and parts of Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations
> 
> this might end up being more than three chapters! i wrote too much!
> 
> kudos n comments appreciated lots!

SOMETHING ISN’T SETTLING RIGHT in his stomach, and his nerves will not calm. Even at work, the feeling does not leave. He’s had two attacks in the past eight days. Peggy had suggested he mute the notifications for his news app, and John said to delete it all together. Yet, that’s not the only thing his anxiety is feeding on. 

At work, he edits an article about Hurricane Maria and the devastation it has brought Puerto Rico. A conversation a group of older women is having across from him during lunch is sad, something about Florida and powerful ocean waves and a dead relative. He feels sick, throws his sandwich away. The news is all about names like Jose, Irma, and Ophelia right now; category four, five, high tides. They say this year has had the most big hurricanes since forever, and Alexander doesn’t want to hear about it. 

It is unnecessary stress that any other person would call unreasonable if they did not know about him. He is surprised John has not said anything, with the way he’s been. Jumpy, sleepless, wandering. His night terrors came back after his last panic attack, and it’s useless to sleep unless he’s completely exhausted; even then he can’t sleep long. Today, he has lost all concentration on the politically influenced article he has been editing for three hours in total; much too long for his usual standards. His hands, shaking slightly from his morning coffees, fiddle with his top three shirt buttons. The sound of easy conversation and an old copy machine catch his interest, lovelier than the impending anxiety attack waiting to find any reason to go off in his head. _ Caribbean was virtually ruined, Nothing for days,  _ NPR chirps from his bright phone screen. Under the notification, a forgotten text from John surprises him, and an older one from Peggy fades underneath it. The article is from today, he knows, but those events had happened a week ago. He knows that, but it still settles in his stomach like battery acid waiting for him to swallow a matchbook. An unmanicured, but long nail picks under his shirt sleeve and begins to scratch lines just above his wrist. He moves the nail, hard and tearing, across his skin until it is so tender that it might bleed.  _ Feels good,  _ somewhere in his mind says, a wandering thought he had believed was abandoned months ago. 

He tears at it one more time, curses under his breath when he really does break the layer, more from the red beginning to ruin his white dress shirt than from the pain. Alexander inhales sharply and scrambles for his phone. When blinked on, it reads  _ 5:08 PM,  _ John’s old message still under it. He unlocks the device and reads the message, even if it isn’t relevant. 

 

**_FROM:_ ** _ dear jack  _ **_at 12:14 PM:_ **

_ I’m gonna buy some milk and pasta, we got tomatoes. Spaghetti tonight? Love you darling <3 _

 

Alexander grounds himself subconsciously when he reads it, or maybe just the thought of John being there, writing _ love you darling _ with that little heart emoji grounds him. He doesn’t think too hard about it; at least he’s not on the very brink of panic anymore. Throwing his gaze to his stained crimson sleeve cuff, he curses again anyways. He will have to soak it in peroxide. If that does not work, he’ll have to throw it away, then John will see and probably ask. Irritating little bad habits. He’s never liked them. 

In the end, he wills himself to finish the article before packing up, but it is decided that he’s too shaken to focus on much more than that. He waves at Burr as he passes him, and the man seems puzzled that Alexander is leaving at a normal time. 

 

THE SPAGHETTI IS DELICIOUS. Alexander finds his appetite, and manages to finish most of his plate of pasta before the sick feeling moves back in. John eyes him the entire time. 

“Good?” There’s a smirk in his voice, and Alexander sees him smiling around his forkful of noodles. John’s cooking is always spectacular, of course, and Alexander nods along. Pushing his plate away, he leans back in the wooden chair and watches John watch him. They make eye contact, smiling dopily at each other. Alexander ignores his stomach and the exhausted anxiety in his mind for this moment, and John gives it to him. 

“Don’t you wanna take off that jacket, baby? It’s kinda hot in here from the stove.” Alexander glances down at the faux leather sleeves of his jacket, and frowns. He had forgotten he had it on, and it was increasingly hotter every second he was in it, but he did not want John to see the blood stain. He tugged at the cuffs, pulling them past his wrist. 

“No, no. I’m good. It’s not that hot in here.” John did not look convinced, eyebrows furrowed at his nervous sleeve tugging, but he shrugged and let it go. Alexander breathed.

“Okay then,” the taller man stood up, picking up his and Alexander’s plates as he did, “gonna go rinse these off. Change outta those expensive suit pants and help me with the dishes?” He inquired, smiling. Obviously giving Alexander an exit sign. Obviously the best boyfriend ever. Alex agreed without hesitation and jogged to the bedroom, stripping his work clothes. He threw everything but the shirt into the clothes basket. After slipping on some sweats and a tee, he bundled the shirt into a ball and threw it into the far corner of their closet, making a mental reminder to wash it when John wasn’t home. 

In all ways, to Alexander, John was a masterpiece. He was the only piece of art Alexander had ever loved, ever found such significance in. Artists pour their hearts into their work, whatever it may be, and it really bled through in John. He was a statue as majestic as  _ David _ , but with the beauty of a Monte, livelihood and passion of a Spanish Baroque. He was abstract and contemporary, nothing ordinary to Alexander.  

When he found John standing in front of the kitchen sink, faded, jean clad hips moving slowly to a song his full lips whispered, Alexander was reminded of all of that. Wicked, too long curls spilling from a clip and two day’s stubble along his mouth, a black tank top over dotted golden skin. Alexander reached him and kissed the back of his neck, wrapped an arm around him as tight as he could. John hummed, somewhere in the tune of his song, and Alex kissed between both of his sharp shoulder blades and listened. 

_ “Why do you build me up, buttercup, baby, just to let me down…”  _

His voice rose with the new addition of Alex, and the dishes swished in the soapy water. When John’s partner moved from his back to stand beside him and began rinsing soap off clean dishes, he waited for a moment before going on. Alexander smiled over the soapy pot he was holding. 

“ _ And the worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will, but I love you still…” _

John’s soft voice resonated in the small room, a few china cups clinking in the sink. Alexander gazed up at him, losing the breath in chest by doing so. 

“ _ -I need you, I need you, more than anyone darlin’, you know that I have from the start.” _

 

The last dish was settled in the dish rack by the end of the song with their combined abilities, and Alexander felt the sickness in his stomach finally vanish. For the first time in awhile, sleep seemed like a nice option. Maybe he could make it through the night this time. He flickered his eyelids, pressed a kiss to John’s shoulder. It was cold again in the apartment, and Alexander thought it had something to do with the breeze blowing in through their windows. Regardless, the moon hung heavy and blue in the sky, setting a calm atmosphere. John pressed him against the nearest counter piece and wrapped damp fingers around his waist. They kissed, and something in Alexander’s chest opened up. 

“You’ve been restless all week, babydoll,” John murmured, lips to Alexander’s cheekbone, “how about I take you to bed, hm?” The lips kissed his jaw, warm everywhere. Alexander nodded, exhaustion in his eyes.  _ Yes.  _ He’d try to sleep tonight. 

“You sing pretty,” he recognized, bones heavy as John gathered him up and into his arms. John chuckled, throaty and full. 

“Thank you, darling. You are _ pretty _ .” 

John half-carried, half-walked, Alexander to the bedroom and laid him gently on the messy bed. Alexander was pliant, hood-eyed, purring against John’s side like a cat would, impatient as John left his grasp to change out of his jeans. He practically pulled John towards him, and the man smiled, kissed his head. They situated each other, chest to chest, hands intertwined, like thread in cloth. 

John watched his tired partner even his breathing, burrow into into the bed like a small animal. He himself was not as close to sleep’s grasp, but he was content to just lay here and observe Alexander. He would get up in a little while, finish grading papers and cleaning up for bed, but this was now. Alex was always so beautiful when he slept- a sight John had trouble seeing most weeks. Especially this month. Hurricane season always had Alexander awake until he could not be, Anxiety crashing through his heart and panic threatening to swirl in the pit of his stomach, to cloud his powerful brain. Bring devastation, each and every time. Alexander hated this time because he himself was a hurricane, stuck in the middle of growing and dissolving into nothing. 

A chilly breeze flew through their bedroom window, and John shivered half-heartedly. He reached down to pull the blanket over Alexander’s sleeping form, but stopped when he saw angry red across the wrist of the hand he was holding. John sat up, gently holding the hand. He examined the wrist, gasping at the sight of three or so deep, wide scratches painting it. They were dark and scabbed over, probably from earlier in the day, but no later than that. He glanced at Alexander’s calm, unaware face and remembered the jacket from earlier, the sleeve tugging. Remembered scratches on thighs, calves, shoulders, wrists, biceps, the stomach. Years of them. A scar on Alexander’s waist, jagged nail mark on tender skin. 

“And again,” John concluded, to himself and the cold apartment.

 

Alexander is gone before John wakes up. 


	3. running a red light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes alexander needs to be told to stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter originally titled: i need to chill w the d/s bullshit
> 
> sorry for the long break??? i didn't have any wifi until now. also, i changed the chapter amount. 
> 
> warnings: smut and some angst if you blink (also like, one phrase in french that im too lazy to go back and see if it's typed correctly.)
> 
> lafayette and eliza are in this chapter! theyre prolly the highlight of this entire fic

 

MAXI SKIRTS AND BIG SUNGLASSES, Lafayette and Eliza are heart-stopping as they walk into the cafe. John cannot help but stare, think about how beautiful his friends are. How dazzlingly confident they are.

“ _ Jean _ !” 

“John!” 

He is suddenly crowded by their bodies, loving arms encircling him. Laf puckers kisses into his hair and on both cheeks three times, and Eliza breathes in his scent as she rests her head on his shoulder. John laughs, realizing how much he had missed their presence in the last couple weeks. He hugs them tightly. 

 

“Guys, guys, you’re suffocating me,” he giggles, and they let go. Lafayette pushes the round glasses into his hair, and then ruffles John’s. Eliza smiles, bright, and tucks her glasses into the collar of her shirt to reveal big, shiny eyes. John is still grinning from ear to ear as he leads them to his booth. 

They slide in, Eliza and Lafayette on one side and John on the other. Laf immediately begins talking: “What’s going on, friend? How’s Alexander taking the weather? Spill.” John blushes, hiding under the cup of coffee he had ordered himself earlier. 

“Can you give a guy a break? I’ve been grading tests for the last hour.” He points a lazy finger at the pile of graded packets laying next to his coffee. His eyes are dry and tired feeling like they always are after concentrating too long on something, and his hands are jittery. Eliza picks a packet from the top of the stack and reads the subject in a sarcastic voice. 

“Chemical Bonding? Interesting. Bet a bunch of teenagers from the worst part of Brooklyn loved taking a-,” she flips through it absentmindedly, “-three page test on this topic.” John glares and her, rips the papers out of her hand and tosses them back on the stack. From the way he doesn’t say anything to defend himself, Eliza believes he knows her sarcasm is truthful.

“Enough about science, I think I might fall asleep. Are we here to simply hang out, or what?” Lafayette faux yawned, hand over perfectly painted mahogany lips. Eliza took that as her cue to call over a waiter, ordering coffees for Laf and herself. John finished his own cup. 

“Of course this is to hang out, at least until I force you to drag Alex away from work with me,” John glanced at his phone’s clock, hoping he wouldn’t have to do that tonight; even if he knew he would. It had been this way since the last night they slept together, when Alexander had given into exhaustion. He had called his friends because he didn’t think he could do it alone today, not without losing his quickly emptying bottle of patience. Not without saying something he might regret. 

Eliza scrunched up her nose, a frown tracing her features. Lafayette set his sunglasses on the table, and a hard look had formed in his eyes. “So, he’s doing that again. I do not know why I am surprised.” Both of John’s friends received their coffees, and the waiter was thanked. John shrugged from his side of the table, recognizing the sound in  _ that  _ and the criticism in  _ again.  _ Everyone thought John would be good for Alex. It was true, they were good together, but good relationships don’t make personal problems disappear. Alex would always have anxiety over the weather forecast, and John would always be there to make sure he didn’t do something he would regret.  _ But I wasn’t there this time, was I?  _ Ugly red nail marks flashed behind his eyes. 

“You wanna stay over and watch a movie if Alexander feels up to it? You guys aren’t just extra reinforcements. You’re our friends, even if our bonding time isn’t much anymore.” Eliza sipped at her coffee, avoiding burning her tongue. She looked to Laf, who had a conversation with her through his stare. Lafayette stood, fixing the sheer fabric of his long skirt as he did so. With a glance at his phone once more, John found it to be past nine. Alexander should have left hours ago. Alex should have texted him, at least once. At least to ease John’s nerves a little.  

“Only if I can pick the movie,” Lafayette teased.

 

GREASE IS THE DECIDED MOVIE of the night, but they must take Alexander home first. Eliza takes John’s left arm as they walk the few blocks to the building Alexander works in, Lafayette linking with his other. They walk, crowded but comfortable, arm and arm down the narrow pathway together. The brisk near-autumn wind slaps their skin, slices through their jackets. Lafayette squeals stories of his fiance, George, and their new puppy. Eliza shows him pictures of Hercules’ latest designs from a fashion show he recently participated in. John feels his nerves rise the entire way there. 

In the lobby, a secretary greets them very cheerfully as she packs up to go home. John is the first into the elevator and presses the tenth floor button a few more times than he needs to, thankful that it is empty besides them. Eliza wraps her slender fingers around his calloused ones, stopping him from potentially breaking the elevator keyboard. Lafayette hums along to the beat playing in the background, something akin to Wii music. John barely notices, checking his phone clock once more with his free hand.  _ 9:56 PM _

Alexander’s floor is almost completely barren of people, save for a form behind a bright, bright computer screen, surrounded by a large desk filled with papers. John’s gate is vicious as he reaches Alexander’s messy desk, heeled leather boots muted by the cheap carpet. Only when he is but a foot away from Alexander does her remember to calm down; patience is key. For as hot tempered as he is, he’s at least learned that in his years of dating the other man.

“Baby girl?” John starts, surprised of his soft voice. Impressive, for once. Alexander looks zombie-ish, dead in the artificial computer light, shouting in his face and highlighting his eyebags. John almost winces, but steps forward instead. He eyes one of the sheets of paper scattered around his friend’s desk. The title is blatant:  _ Dominica & Hurricane Maria.  _

Something flashes on the computer screen, and John finds that it is just Alexander switching files. He comes around the behind Alex’s swivel chair, looks nervously back at his lovely support team. Eliza flashes a thumbs up; Lafayette grins with his teeth, wide and special. He throws a thumbs up back, focusing down at his task at hand. It doesn’t hurt for the support to have support too. 

“Hey, yo, kitty, babe, babydoll,” Alexander does nothing but grunt in response. John calls him again, keeping any edge out of his voice. Alexander flickers his eyes to the side, distracted gaze reflecting off of the computer screen so John can view it too. The man decidedly ignores him, focuses on the word document once again.Oh, so like  _ that.  _ Okay. John can play this game. He’s done it for too long to hesitate now. A tough, freckled hand, rests on the working man’s shoulder, and he does the smallest, quickest of flinches. He really  _ did _ want to play this game. John drags his hand upwards, finding purchase in thick, wavy black locks. He does not pull, only massages the warm scalp underneath. For a few moments John does this, until Alexander is letting little gasps bleed from his lips. He strains his jaw, biting back anything more than that. John sees gibberish typed into the word processor. Only then, does he pull. 

Grip is lost on the sleek computer keys and Alex lets out a crashing squeak as he struggles not to fall back in his chair, limbs flailing. John releases the pressure of the yank, but holds his grip. He leans into Alexander’s neck, fingers still knitted into taunt locks, and whispers: “You know the consequences of not listening to me, dear boy.” 

The smaller man whimpers, neck uncomfortably exposed by the other’s deathly grip on his hair. His Adam’s apple bobs obscenely, and he whimpers more when finds John is out of his line of sight. All there is, is a fiery mouth breathing too close to his right ear. 

“You gonna listen to me from now on, yeah?” John’s voice is deep, low, rumbly like when he wakes up but not quite. Alexander swallows, finding it difficult, and responds with a croaky, “Yes,” a breath, “Yes, sir.” 

“Wow,” Laf spoke from the doorway, and Eliza nods.  _ So much for take it easy. _

  
  


SANDY AND DANNY SING, totally in love but not completely ready to admit it. Lafayette is in the middle of having a popcorn war with Eliza, holding fort behind the couch in John and Alexander’s living room. John scorns them half-heartedly about cleaning their mess up, but isn’t paying much attention. It has something to do with the sleepy Alexander at his side, more in his lap than anything else. None of them are paying much attention to Sandy’s heartfull  _ hopelessly devoted to you  _ coming from the television.

“Did you eat lunch today, babydoll?” John asks; soft, close. It sends shivers down Alexander’s spine. He hadn’t eaten more than maybe... that cookie! He ate a peanut-butter cookie for lunch. He says so to John, and he tuts like a parent would a disobedient child. Alexander yawns. He knows somewhere he is hungry, but he’s too tired to eat right now. John seems to sense that, doesn’t bother him about food at the moment. The tired man crawls more securely into his boyfriend’s lap, and John bounces him on his leg in appreciation. Lafayette sends a popped kernel over their heads, and Eliza sends one the other way, but instead of missing them it hits Alexander’s nose. Said man gasps, and they all fall into a fit of giggles. He climbs out John’s lap, running to join Lafayette’s side of the Great Popcorn War immediately afterwards. John jumps over the arm of the couch to huddle next to Eliza, and the popcorn-throwing commences until they all eventually run out of ammo. 

 

ELIZA KISSES ALEXANDER’S FOREHEAD, and the shorter man giggles in response. He is not much for conversation at this point, slap-happy like a kid past their bedtime. John thinks it’s adorable, although he really should be getting Alexander to bed. To sleep. Like John wanted him home for. But  _ gosh _ , he’s human and he can only do so much right in a day. 

“I’m so glad I got to see you guys again! Especially you, little Alex,” Lafayette says, kissing Alex’s forehead right after Eliza. The woman agrees readily, wrapping her scarf back around her neck. Alex smiles and soaks up the attention like a sunflower, and John thinks he hasn’t seen anything more pure in his life. 

“It was great seeing you two, also. Like, a shit ton. Thanks for finding the time.” John pats Laf’s shoulder, then leans in to hug Eliza. 

“Yeah! Sorry you had to come get me from work, though. It’s just been...tough.” There’s something in the way Alex pulls at the cuffs of his sweater that alerts John’s mind to the meaning behind those words. 

“It’s cool, ‘Lexi. We understand. Just glad we could see you, ya know?” Eliza is sweet, but she’s slowly making her way to the door. She understands Alex needs to sleep from the way he’s gotten particularly bubbly, too tired to actually care at this point. Lafayette follows suit, throwing a lasting look at John. 

“ _ A tout a l’heure _ , love birds,” the frenchman says as he reaches the door, twisting the knob and opening it, revealing the empty hallway outside. Alexander laughs and waves as they walk out, not ceasing until the door is closed again. John locks it after them, remembering that they really should lock their door more often, man, it’s fucking Brooklyn. 

Alexander is next to him when John turns around, a little grin on his face. He wraps his arms around John’s neck loosely, pulls him in. John stumbles, eases an arm around Alexander’s waist for balance. “Alexander,” He says, breathlessly. His boyfriend practically purrs, big chestnut eyes obviously following the lines of John’s mouth. 

“I’m tired. I need to sleep, I know. But I want this first, Jack,” Alexander closes the distance and unexpectedly kisses John, long and powerful. The other man has trouble falling into it immediately, but it’s so hard not to. It’s so hard when he hasn’t seen Alexander more than a few hours in the last couple days, but he’s so close now. So  _ ready  _ for him. He tips his head and kisses back slowly, setting the pace. He licks at Alexander’s lips, holds him tighter. When Alex lets him in, too needy to resist, he rolls his tongue over the other man’s and uses his other arm to peel Alexander’s sweater off of his shoulders. Alex breaks the kiss, pants hard. 

“I’m sorry for not listening to you earlier. It wasn’t right,” Alex says, forgetting about all of the times he done so before then, all of the times he’s apologized the exact same way. John wants to forget that too, he doesn’t want to think about Alexander’s scratch marks or his life-threatening anxiety anymore. Not when Alex has pretty, swollen red lips and blown pupils. He considers all the ways this could play out. He only likes one, in the short run. 

“And why are you apologizing so suddenly, Alexander?” John says, skin crinkles around his eyes from smiling. Alexander squirms in his arms. He leans up, kissing the skin just below John’s earlobe. Intoxicatingly warm breath fills John’s senses, and for a second he cannot focus on anything but the way Alex purposely moans into his ear. 

“I wanna make it up to you, Jack.” Alexander punctuates this by biting down on John’s ear, and pain floods John’s mind. But it’s so  _ good. _

 

_ Who is he to deny his dear boy, anyways? _

 

“Okay, baby. Make it up to me.” The shorter man is quickly in action, dropping to his knees on the hard tile of the living room floor. He grasps John’s hip, sharp bone noticeable even through the end of his snug jeans. Long, unfiled nails rake over John’s skin just underneath his tee-shirt. He watches Alexander rub his cheek against the tight fabric, nudging John’s hardening cock just so. John hums, hiding the moan building in his throat. Alex smiles devilishly, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He locks eyes with John from under his impossibly thick eyelashes, and John swears when he begins to lap at the denim around his cock like an icecream cone. 

John runs a hand through Alex’s hair, which is greasy and tangled, but still silky and beautiful. He watches intently as the man begins to pull at the zipper of the jeans with his teeth, both hands locked securely around John’s hips, needing at the flesh. Harsh nail marks begin to dot his hipbones. John only encourages Alexander. He coos words of appreciation. 

“That’s so nice of you, babydoll, to suck my cock. You’re such a good boy.” Alexander preens under the words. He fumbles in a sudden rush over the pesky brass button. John helps him when he gets frustrated, and pulls the flat button out of the buttonhole easily. Alexander uses the tips of his nails to tug the thick fabric down, and it falls to John’s ankles once shimmed down his thighs. A small, lustful sound comes from the back of his throat when he sees John’s half hard cock through his tight boxers, and he cannot help but start to suck on it through the thinner, more form fitting elastic. John groans loudly, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure and in awe of his dear boy. He wraps his knuckles in loose hair and pulls enough to make Alex whine. 

“Fuck, Alexander,” he yanks Alex’s mouth away from his underwear, a silent command for him to pull them down. Alexander complies, and the boxers add to the pants on the floor. John releases Alexander’s hair, and the man happily goes back to the task at hand, running his tongue hungrily over John’s hard prick. 

John is thick and salty, and when Alexander cranes his neck in and buries his nose in curly hair, he’s heady too. The smaller man is in bliss, doing what he loves to do almost as much as writing. John gasps filthy words at him, caught up in the way Alexander’s mouth has hollowed around him. He loves how he can affect his lover, how he can make him forget and sense of reason and give him the best kind of pleasure. This is  _ so much better _ than sleeping, and Alexander hopes by the end of this John will either fall asleep before him, or his own sleep comes quickly. He can’t handle another night of those crazy hurricane dreams. Alexander claws harder at John’s hips, trying to ground himself. He swallows around the end of John’s cock, and his partner bucks abruptly into his mouth. Alexander chokes, tears spilling out of his tear ducts. John pulls him off by the hair, always cautious. 

“Alex, breathe baby, breathe.” 

He tries to force himself back on, he can take it,  _ he wants to take it,  _ this is exactly what he needs. John is reluctant, holding him tightly by spilt-ended locks of hair. He stares down at Alex with that  _ something  _ in his eyes. 

“I said,  _ breathe. _ ” 

Alexander glares, knowing he’s being rude and disobeying John’s established dominance. He just wants to be full again, until he can’t breathe unless he’s struggling through his nose and John is everywhere, engulfing him like an ocean wave, telling him what to do. No panicking. He’s been out of it way too much this month. “I’m fine, Jack,” Alexander coughs up, throat hoarse. He spares a split second to observe John’s face, which has turned to one of love and concern. 

“You gotta remember to tap my thigh if I hurt you, okay?” Is all he says instead of scolding Alex or just pulling his pants back up. Alexander nods feverishly, and John guides him back on his cock slowly. Alexander believes he is still shedding concern when he does nothing else, just rubbing at Alex’s scalp with the hand tangled in his hair. He makes an annoyed sound, lips sealed over the member, but is cut off when John drives his hips forward and digs deep into Alexander’s waiting mouth. He chokes, hollows his mouth out more. 

John fucks Alexander’s face relentlessly for the few minutes it takes him to build up into a climax, and comes spectacularly far down Alexander’s throat, moaning praises. Alexander isn’t satisfied when he’s pulled off and able to catch his breath, swallow and feel his raw throat contract around nothing. But he’s happy, and thankful John let him do what he wanted. It’s the closest he think’s he’ll ever be to satisfaction, even if he’s still hard in his own pants.

John pulls him up by the biceps and kisses him hard. He backs Alexander into the door and shoves a hand into his pants, jacks him off roughly. 

“Fucking beautiful, my baby girl. You looked so pretty around my cock. C’mon, come for me, you did so well.” Alexander’s eyes roll back and he whines John’s name as he comes, breathless. 


	4. and to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alex has an attack, john wants to help; arguments are pointless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back again w more angst n the worst argument scene you've ever read
> 
> hey kids ive got so much homework, but i did this chapter instead
> 
> warnings: a panic attack! me projecting w john! 
> 
> also! thanks for the super nice comments! i DIED when i saw them. <333

 

SLEEP IS INEVITABLE. He knows this as he lays down beside his boyfriend, feels heavy arms wrap around his middle. It is past twelve in the morning on a workday, and sleep has left him. Or maybe he left sleep. Alexander doesn’t know how many times he’s found himself in this situation in his life. He can’t remember a time where he was getting proper sleep, even as a child. November needs to end faster. As the laws of space and time go, it never does. 

When John is asleep, Alexander peels himself out of his lover’s grasp and pads over to the window, which has had the blinds rolled over it since the last time Alexander slept here. Even through the hard, thick glass, he can hear the loud splattering of rain against it and the building. It must have started when they were distracted, and Alexander’s mind was at peace. He peels the blinds away; views the busy, blurry city. He gets deja vu. The sick feeling in his stomach comes back at full force.

New York is always so pretty when it rains. 

 

THERE’S A POINT SOMEWHERE during the foggy early-morning light and the third time he’s heard an ambulance go by when he fades off, but is awakened only an hour or so afterwards by his blaring alarm and John tying on his dress shoes, using the bed as a step stool. He’s made it to the second shoe when Alexander sits up, feeling as if he had gotten zero sleep anyways. 

“Mornin’ babydoll. Gotta leave by six-thirty, so I don’t got much time. Get any sleep?” John drops his leg from the edge of the bed and leans over, kissing Alexander square on the cheek. Alex nods, wondering if his eyebags have gotten any darker just from this month alone. “I believe I got some. It rained hard last night.” John gives him an unreadable look, filled with so many conflicting emotions Alexander refuses to try to understand it when he’s this tired. Instead, he settles for watching John sling a band into his long hair and two more onto his wrist. The man glides around the small bedroom and bathroom like it’s a graceful dance, readying himself for work. Alexander redoes his own hair, mentally reminding himself to take a shower today. He leaves the bedroom in search for coffee, and smiles when he finds half a pot waiting for him in the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of the inky liquid and drinks it that way, savoring every bitter sip. Yes. One of the only things that keeps him going on days like this. 

John comes down the hallway with a bag slung around on shoulder and a backpack on the other. He smiles at Alex, who leans in to kiss him with coffee tasting lips. John kisses back, then pulls away, wiping at his mouth. 

“Ah! Fucking morning breath, too. How dare you?” 

“You wanted it,” Alexander replies, stifling a chuckle. 

“That, I did,” John grins. He leans in again for another kiss, and Alexander chooses to lose himself in it. John pulls away, but not before he’s bitten all over Alex’s bottom lip and stained both a cherry red. He leans his forehead against Alex’s.

“Get home before seven today, yeah?” John asks, warm breath against skin waking up Alexander’s body.

The words sound more like  _ I know you didn’t sleep last night  _ or  _ I’m tired of coming to get you,  _ but Alexander nods anyways. John leaves, just like that, and Alexander can do nothing for minutes but stare at the door he used. 

 

THIS IS NOT OKAY. Alexander feels cold sweat run down his spine, his lungs will not inhale,  _ his lungs will not inhale.  _ All he wanted was to get through this day in peace. Now look where he’s at. Having a panic attack in the men’s bathroom at work. Yes, peaceful. 

It has something to do with being exhausted. It has something to do with not eating. It has something to do with hurricane season. Right now, though? He can’t really process that. His hands grip the white porcelain sink, and his mouth desperately tries to get his mouth to inhale oxygen. Then there’s those fat tears skipping down his cheeks, making it hard to see his reflection in the mirror. It looks so blurry- so bright. Every light is exaggerated, and his face is a streaky red. There’s something about it. There’s something about the smudgy picture that reminds him of Brooklyn when it pours. His heart is beating so  _ fast.  _

Alexander finishes a ragged breath for the first time in the past three minutes. Progress. He finishes another, and another, and soon he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in nothing anymore. Alexander doesn’t even remember what triggered the attack, in the end. He just remembers that familiar heart drop, his own wide eyes. And now he’s here. 

Scratchy paper towels wipe at his eyes, which have become red rimmed. He focuses on counting his breaths as he pulls out his cell phone. The lockscreen is a picture Lafayette sent him of his new puppy, Georges. It is a photo of the little fur ball curled around Washington’s large hand, and though it’s weird to see his old professor’s defined arm in the shot, the pup is cute as fuck. He unbuttons the top button of his shirt, hoping it will relieve some pressure on his neck. By the time Alexander gets to John’s message conversation, he caught his breath. 

 

**_TO:_ ** _ dear jack  _ **_at 2:10 PM:_ **

_ Had an attack. I’m chill now, but i think i might actually come home at 7 today. _

There is not instant response, but he doesn’t expect so during school hours. Alexander splashes some cold tap water on his face and buttons his shirt back up, leaves the bathroom. Gets back to work. 

 

When he’s on his break a few hours later, his phone dings. 

 

**_FROM:_ ** _ dear jack  _ **_at 4:03 PM:_ **

_ We’ve gotta talk when you get home, hon. I’m starting to get worried.  _

 

Alexander throws his sandwich away and opens an unfinished document on his computer, afraid he’ll throw up if he tries to eat more. Of course. 

 

THERE’S A GLASS OF BRANDY on the coffee table when Alexander unlocks the apartment door, and John is in the middle of pouring a second one. Alexander closes the door behind him and sits his briefcase on the floor next to the table. John sets the glass beside his own with a clink and smiles up at Alex, unreserved and comfortable in his grey thermal and fluffy pajama pants. They have little turtles on them. Alexander has a pair like them somewhere, dotted with cartoon lions instead. 

“Is the brandy for our talk? Is that necessary?” Alexander plops onto the couch beside John, already working his tie loose. John shrugs, hands a glass to him. He takes it readily, but only sips the dark liquor. John does the same. 

“Only if you want it to be. I just really needed a drink, myself. Gotta love teenagers and their absolute willingness to learn, am I right?” John swishes the liquid in his glass around, watching the alcohol roll in little circles, no beach for the waves to crash on. Alexander catches the sight, thinks of a Greek god willing a tsunami over an unfaithful city. The people running, screaming for their lives. Begging for forgiveness in the wake of dark, thick, enveloping waves. Only to be washed away like grains of sand. A thin boy, digging himself out of the wreck- God, he needs sleep. Alexander brushes the thought off his shoulder. He catches John’s gaze, which is completely focused on him now. The glass is sitting, forgotten, on the table in front of them. Oh, when did that happen?

“Alexander.” John says, like he’s been saying it for awhile now. “You good, babydoll?” 

“I’m fine, Jack. Yeah. What did you wanna talk about?” Alexander unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt, rolls back his sleeves. He begins sliding off him black dress shoes when John starts talking, eyes still on him. 

“Well I know you don’t usually get much sleep, and I understand why, but-”

“But what?” Alex prods, a little too fast, a little too insistent. John visibly flinches, and Alex immediately regrets it. 

“But it’s starting to worry me, babe. I am not with you most of the day. I cannot protect you from potentially getting triggered, or tell you when to take a break all of the time.” John suppressed raising his voice, settling for another drink of the brandy instead. Alexander was biting his lip beside him, in that  _ I’m trying not to say something irrational but I really, really gotta  _ way. His hair, at least washed, was a mess and his eyes were sunken into his face like dark caverns. He looked thinner, somehow, and dead in his work clothes. John had seen him worse(a scary thought, really) and this was not Alexander doing his worst. This was ‘on-the-verge-of-worst” Alexander. 

There’s something he remembers from his first few years of dating Alexander: a coffee ran, complicated, desperate for success disaster he could never take his eyes off. It was hard to pinpoint the highs and lows in the beginning, they were so abundant and so easily covered by Alexander’s ever-lasting excitement. When they had started sleeping in the same bed, John had noticed he was the only one who did any real sleeping in the first place. Twenty-five year old grad-student Hamilton was a fire that could not be put out, the man worked constantly. On a good day, he would roll in next to John around two and wake up at five-thirty without hesitation. Only when an October storm had caught them in the train station had John realized why Alex hadn’t actually slept in their bed since September. 

Alex was calmer now, a force that could be reckoned with if you approached it correctly. For the most part, he took care of himself normally and counted on John to help him when he could not. And right now, John was trying. He had bought a bottle of NyQuil on his way home. He had been passive all month, it was time to put his foot down and talk this out. 

“I just want to help you relax, somehow. You’ve been a tin roof in a hail storm all fucking season, and that’s not right. I haven’t been here like I should be,” and wasn’t that true? He had only been there for one attack, hadn’t even confronted Alex about his scratches. John watched his drink do nothing, a million thoughts in his head. 

“Okay,” Alex simply said. He was staring at his cup, too. John wanted to reach over and take his hand, intertwine their fingers securely. He kept his hands clasped in his lap. What a failure, he was. He’s supposed to be the bigger person here when Alexander is unable to. He’d procrastinated. He’d made this worse. 

“Okay. You have been here, though. You have. I haven’t been taking care of myself on purpose, is all. We’d talked about that before-”

“No, Alex, I’m the one at fault here. I wasn’t doing my job in our relationship!” 

Alexander stood up, a little wobbily in a way that was more from no rest than alcohol. “What does that even  _ mean _ , dude? I haven’t been allowing myself to relax  _ even after you helped.  _ Don’t make this about your guilty concious and how much you  _ can’t  _ be there!” John stood too, if only to be the taller person again. Alexander burned him with his lazer-like eyes, deep mahogony against shiny blue eyebags. He glanced do at the scratch marks across Alexander’s wrist, faded but there. John took a hold of Alex’s forearm and displayed them to open air.  

“What about this? I  _ knew,  _ we both knew they were there. What happened?!” 

“Maybe we didn’t think that it was very important, considering everything else lately!” He ripped his wrist out of John’s grip, held it tightly behind his back. John cowered. 

“I’m sorry.” He backed away, giving the other man space. Alexander took a large gulp of his drink, effectively finishing it. John reached beside himself and pulled a bag from the lap of the armchair nearby. He dropped it on the coffee table. “From the drugstore.”

Alexander didn’t bother to take the medicine out of the thin bag, just nodded slightly. “NyQuil.” 

“Yeah. I also bought some decaf, if it helps. I know Eliza used to force you to drink it in college. And, as a 29 year-old man with no children does, I purchased some bubble bath. That wasn’t really to help, I just... got carried away.” John blushed. 

Alexander stared at him, an odd look on his face. One of those mixed emotion ones, the kind that give people chills and smiles at the same time. He frowned, dimming the mood, and blurted out, “I got blood on one of my dress shirts and I didn’t want you to see it so I hid it in the closet, it’s been there awhile now and I might have to throw it away I’m sorry.” 

John blinked. “On spaghetti night?” Alexander nodded and bit his lip. 

“On spaghetti night.” 

 

John stared blankly for a few moments, taking in how stupid both of them were. How much he loved Alexander, despite his little ticks. He forgot what they were arguing about. “Oh, I’d figured.” 

 

They slept(In the same bed, at similar times) that night. 


End file.
